


Feathers and Caffeine

by Barbequisha0927, cfdorky



Category: RWBY
Genre: Apologies, Awkward Flirting, Brothers and sisters in arms, Cardin is a Racist Ass, Cardin is a little dick, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to family, Goddammit Cardin!, Interracial By Fantasy Standards, M/M, Mommy Issues, Post fall of Beacon, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, but then he isn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 05:19:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbequisha0927/pseuds/Barbequisha0927, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cfdorky/pseuds/cfdorky
Summary: Teams CRDL and CFVY have been recruited by General Ironwood and Glynda Goodwitch for a mission could determine the fate of Remnant. These young, skilled, determined warriors hold the fate of the world in their hands. The only problem is they couldn't get along to save their own lives, let alone the worlds!Because once again trusting the fate of the world to Angsty Teenagers/Young Adults is not the best idea.





	Feathers and Caffeine

**Author's Note:**

> So I found myself wondering; what would it take for someone like Cardin Winchester(Ya know that guy from season 1 that literally vanished into thin air) to; a) become the person we meet in volume 1; and b) become a better person despite his past.
> 
> This stories is how that happens in my head. That aside it's also a story about how Teams CRDL and CFVY could become cute sister teams like RWBY and JNPR. AND fun stuff about the character’s we haven’t seen since volume 3.
> 
> So enjoy Feathers and Caffeine my lovelies.
> 
> 3.2.1.GO!

Cardin fell over from exhaustion as the punching bag began to leak sand from its overexerted seams. Sweat covered his brow and his gray T-shirt and leaked down the pant legs of his pajamas. Hot puffs of air curled through the air. His family training room was always kept frigidly cold. Sometimes he wondered if it was originally meant to be a meat locker. Its ice cold metal walls and smooth cement floors supported the theory. He heaved out another labored breath and pulled himself up, moving to the corner of the room to grab yet another punching bag from the pile. He picked the first one he could get his hands on, a burgundy bag that probably weighed over a hundred pounds, and he struggled as he lifted the burden onto the supports. The task was not normally an issue for the teen, but he _had_ been training since midnight and it was now well past noon. He knew that he probably should have stopped hours ago, but he couldn’t. His mind was still drifting, drifting to places that pissed him off. He had only ever had two ways of clearing his head: working himself to exhaustion, letting his mind and body conform to one another through menial tasks; or putting others in their place, preferably others with furry ears, or tails or any other slew of deformities, though he wasn’t really that picky. One way or another, he would forget what had been bothering him.

Alas, he was no longer at Beacon, where there were plenty of plucky young faunus and wannabe hunters to kick to the curb, so his more preferred method of relaxation was out. And sadly, his father had made it pretty clear that he wasn’t allowed to mess with the staff, something about it impeding their ability to work effectively or something. So, when he had been startled awake in the middle of the night after yet another dream from hell and had been unable, or rather unwilling to go back to sleep, he found his way through the halls of his family's estate. He’d grabbed the first bag he saw when he got to the training room and started punching. It wasn’t as cathartic as watching a certain blonde knight fall on his ass, but it was better than nothing. The rhythmic sound of his fists connecting with the old, solid leather of the bag brought him a certain pleasure that he only seemed to feel when he was pummeling something, throwing caution and restraint to the Grimm and letting his inner warrior out. The sound was constant, thump, thump, thump over and over, like a heartbeat.

_And then it was a heartbeat, working in overdrive to push his mammoth of a body forward. Pained grunts left his body as he pushed his mangled leg as far as it would allow and then further, cursing the Boarbatusk that had torn through his armor and aura with a well placed spin dash. He had to get there. He could see the pile of rubble, the one that hid his mother under it. An explosion had dropped the chunks of cement and steel onto her just as he had found her, no doubt caused by a bomb planted by some White Fang lackey. He had felt so relieved when he managed to find her in the chaos that was the fall of Beacon. He had been afraid that he would find her with bullet holes inside her. But instead he found her completely intact. And then the bomb went off. He had let out a guttural yell as he could do nothing but watch the demolished stone find its way snuggly atop his mother. He sidestepped a Griffin, letting the stupid beast eradicate its skull across the pavement. He didn’t have time to deal with the Grimm, or to worry about the screams and bullets filling the air around him. He slid to a stop in front of the pile of debris that had covered his mother's form. He grunted as he began to lift, kick and push anything and everything in his way. Memories, flashed through his mind. Auburn hair flowing in the wind, warm pale arms welcoming him home from school, a button nose tickling his belly as his mother blew a raspberry on his skin as a child, a full laugh that he only ever truly heard when when he did something embarrassing or his father made some shitty joke. Brown eyes, richer than chocolate, and deeper than the ocean. A sterling smile that made him feel safer than any armor could. He couldn’t lose that. He couldn’t. Though, somewhere in his mind he knew that he already had. Tears brimmed his eyes as he lifted the last piece of stone away. He screamed a child's scream at what he saw. He fell to his knee, pawing at the deformed pile of meat that had raised him. He dragged what he could into his lap, swearing and screaming as salty snot and tears ran down his face. He had expected what he found to look more like Robin Winchester, to bare some resemblance to his mother. The thought that the thing that he found would only seem to share skin and hair color, hadn’t even crossed his mind. His grief eventually robbed him of his ability to even curse and the only thing he could do after that was scream. Scream at the unfairness of it all. His mother didn’t deserve this, it wasn’t fair!_

Cardin let out a remorse filled scream as he punched through the leather of the punching bag. Yanking his fist out he promptly kicked the bag as hard as he could, flinging it off of the supports and into the far wall, where it hit with a resounding gong. He punched wall behind himself a few times leaving it dented and warped, trying in vain to remove the horrid images from his mind. Then he stopped. He just, stopped.

Taking in deep breaths and letting his anger simmer. He was still angry and the images still lingered, but he knew that blindly punching was different from the methodic beating that he had been doing before. He knew it would do nothing to quell his pain. His therapist had taught him that little breathing trick, said to do it whenever his mind wandered to the events that occurred eight months ago. He had been doing it almost too often lately.

A loud growl emanated through the room around and Cardin sighed turning towards the door, leaving the trashed punching bag on the floor across the room, in search of food. A housekeeper would come clean it up at some point. He made his way through the halls of his family home. As a child, he and his older brother would play tag and hide and seek throughout the estate, running around like mad men through the empty corridors. Back then, the halls felt warm, they felt safe. Despite the size, the rooms felt like home; they felt like his home.

Now they just felt cold.

He reached his dining room in near record time, not wanting to spend idle time in an empty hallway. He’d had his fill of emptiness. The room was a mix of dark yellows and reds, held together by wooden supports, with high arching windows, which let in the sunlight on nice days. It was a shame that that day was so dreary, the light usually left warm patches along the red carpet and left certain places at the long oak table, that stretched the length of the room, nice and warm in a way he loved. It wasn’t snowing or raining, but it was as if the weather had just given up that day.

Cardin walked across the room, the hall to the training room letting him enter from the far left hand side. As he walked, he traced the elaborate patterns that adorned the heads of each oak chair before pausing. At one of the seats was a stack of syrup glazed pancakes, topped with butter and powdered sugar. Cardin smirked at the aroma of the freshly made pancakes, and mentally reminded himself to thank Leto when he had the chance. Leto was the house butler, and while his food wasn’t on par with the estates head chef, it was far, far, better than a bowl of cereal or a scrambled egg. His mouth watered as he took a seat and happily gorged himself on the hot fluffy meal. Hiring a butler whose semblance was future sight, was the best idea his father had ever made. Soon his plate was empty and with his belly full and he sat back to simply enjoy the quiet as best he could.

Ironically enough his head was finally clear. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, he’d been up since the day began, trying to stop the visions and flashbacks. Well at least they had stopped… Now he could finally begin to enjoy his day.

“Sir…” A tiny voice said from behind him. He recognized it as the voice of the silver headed canine his father had hired a while back.

Cardin kicked his chair back, supporting himself with his knees and balancing on the hind legs of the seat. He flipped his head back craning his neck to look at the dog. She wore a simple white button up and slimming khaki pants. The golden buckle to her brown belt had an engraving that matched the red cardinal emblem on the left breast of her shirt. Silver locks cascaded down her shoulders and framed her pale cheeks and brown eyes. lt would have been attractive if not for the bush of silver fur that sprouted from her backside, not to mention the furry silver wolf ears marring her scalp.

“What.” He spat. He scowled when the pathetic dog flinched at his tone. If she hadn’t wanted to get yelled at then she shouldn’t have bothered him. He had just began to enjoy his day, if only a little. He didn’t need the dog to drag his mood back into the gutter.

“I-I-. Your - your father is looking for you sir.” Matinee, the dog, eked out. Well there went his mood. The last thing he wanted to do at the moment was see his dad.

“Tell him, I’m out.” He said, waving her off, hoping she would leave him in peace.

“I- Sir, he said-” She cut off as she saw the glare he was sending. She then took a breath and continued much to his ire. Though now her voice was barely a whisper. “He said… he said to tell you that it was about Robin.”

A shriek road the sound of a plate shattering around the room. They were soon followed by the sound of a chair clattering against a thinly carpeted floor and heavy foot falls. Matinee whimpered as a two enraged blue eyes burrowed into her skin. She backed away but soon found herself against the wall. Cardin’s fist found its way quickly to the place beside her head and she let out another cry as it did.

“Don’t you ever say her name, mutt!” Cardin seethed his voice echoing through the room. He looked down at the frazzled mass of silver hair and into the scared brown eyes that shifted between his face and his fist. She had better be grateful to his father or she would have been nursing a black eye. And gods, did Cardin wish he could put a dent in her skull, but he would have to settle for the inhuman whimpers coming from the beast in women's clothing. He pushed away from the wall, letting the dog slide to the floor in tears making sure to side step the shards of plate that had made their way to the ground. He made for the door stopping in the doorway. Turning back to the dog who was now a barely functional mess on the ground.

“Clean up this mess.” He muttered, knowing well she had heard it as one of her deformities twitched as he spoke. With that he made his way down the hall and past the training room, to his dad’s study, where his day would inevitably become worse than it already was.

“My life sucks,” He said as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his blue night pants.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope readers enjoyed this first little chapter. 
> 
> The chapters of this story are going to come out in bursts. In an attempt to update quickly, chapters will be shorter but should be closer together. 
> 
> Anywho, have a great one. Feel free to Review.
> 
> Ciao!* \\(^-^)/


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